Kenner shot him a hard look, his eyes mere slits in his lean, leathery face. "Fuck your career, Danjermond. I got a wife and two daughters. This maniac comes sniffing around my turf, I'll tear his goddamn throat out."
He turned and headed for his office. Danjermond fell in step beside him, his stride fluid and graceful beside the sheriff's cowboy swagger. "Our constituents can be grateful you have the sensibilities of a pit bull, Sheriff."
"Yeah, and I'm mean enough to take that as a compliment." He glanced through the window into his office and pulled up short of the door, a headache instantly piercing his temples as he caught a glimpse of Laurel Chandler's profile through the venetian blind. "Shit. This is all I need. She's probably here to tell me Jimmy Lee Baldwin did it."
Danjermond gazed between the slats of the blinds, taking in the feminine lines of Laurel Chandler's face and the determined set of her chin. She sat in the chair beside Kenner 's desk with her legs crossed, and bent as he watched to scratch a spot on her stockinged calf. "She does have a reputation for being… dogged."
Kenner snorted and stubbed his cigarette out in the dirt of a potted orange tree that sat beside his secretary's desk. "She has a reputation for causing trouble, and I don't want any more than I've already got."
Laurel emerged from her interview with Kenner feeling like she'd just gone three rounds with Dirty Harry. How the man had ever won an election was beyond her. He certainly hadn't gone the route of charming the voters. More likely they had been afraid not to vote for him. A territorial sort, he'd torn into her first for invading his office. Then had come the "I have better things to do" speech. He calmed down only marginally when she explained herself, explained that the Delahoussayes didn't understand procedure and only wanted someone to act as go-between on their behalf.
Grudgingly he gave her the barest of details concerning the investigation. Because of the priority nature of the case, the autopsy was already being performed. He couldn't say when the body would be released. He wouldn't say if they had any solid physical evidence. No arrests had been made.
"You brought Tony Gerrard in for questioning."
He narrowed his eyes at her. She couldn't even see the pupils. A muscle ticked in his cheek.
"It's common knowledge, Sheriff. This is a small town."
He lit a cigarette and slowly went through with the ritual of shaking out the match and taking his first deep drag. "We brought him in. Had a little chat."
"I suppose you're aware that his wife had had relationships with a number of other men."
"You gonna tell me they all did it? It was a goddamn conspiracy, right? You're big on that kind of bullshit."
"I'm not telling you anything."
She wanted to tell him to do the anatomically impossible, she thought as she marched down the hall. He had her pegged as a head case, and everything she said he twisted into the ineffectual babblings of a hysterical woman. He wouldn't have believed her if she had told him the earth was round. Of course, Neanderthal that he was, he probably had doubts about that anyway. A nasty insinuation concerning the species residing in Kenner 's family tree ran through her head, and she smiled a little at the mental image of orangutans with slitted eyes and cigarettes dangling from their nonexistent lips.
"I've seen people convicted on the basis of a smile like that one."
Danjermond stepped out of the water fountain alcove, seeming to materialize out of nothing. Laurel 's heart jolted, but she managed to keep from shying sideways. She looked up at the district attorney, finding the quiet amusement in his clear green eyes both irritating and inappropriate-just as her smile must have looked.
"I should probably be fined at the very least," she said with a rueful look. "Psychic defamation of character."
He tipped his head. "Not on the books in the state of Louisiana."
"Then I'm off the hook as long as Kenner can't read minds."
"I believe his talents lie in other areas."
Laurel sniffed and crossed her arms, allowing a little of her anger to sizzle up. "Yes, I'm sure he's a whiz with a rubber truncheon and thumbscrews, but that's not my idea of a good time."
"No?" Danjermond chuckled, then the sound faded away and a heavy silence fell between them like a blanket of humidity. His gaze turned speculative and held fast on her face, searching, probing. "What is, Laurel?" he asked softly.
Something about his question froze her tongue to the roof of her mouth. She had the feeling, as she looked up into that calm, stunningly handsome face that he was running possible scenarios through his head. Hot, dark, erotic. The air around them seemed suddenly charged with his powerful sexuality. She felt it envelope her, felt it penetrate the skirt and blouse she wore and stroke over the silk beneath. A delicate shiver of arousal rippled through her, followed closely by something like revulsion. She wasn't sure she understood either.
"We might discuss it over lunch," he said quietly, his gaze lingering on her mouth, as if he were imagining watching her lips close over a red, ripe strawberry. He stroked the fingertips of one hand along the stylish silk necktie he wore, smoothing it with a lover's caress. His voice softened to the texture of velvet. "Or after."
"That seems a highly improper suggestion, Mr. Danjermond," Laurel said coolly, wishing fervently that someone else would happen out into the hall and break the sexual tension or at least witness it. But then she had the eerie feeling that no one else would see it or sense it. The signals he was sending out were for her alone.
Sliding his hands into the pockets of his coffee brown trousers, he smiled that all-knowing feline smile that made her feel as if he were a superior life-form who had taken the guise of a mere mortal for amusement. "I don't believe I've broken any rules by asking you to lunch."
Once again he had neatly maneuvered her into a corner. The realization annoyed her. If she wanted to make an argument against his statement, she would have to be the one to bring up the topic of sexual tension and implied propositions.
Or maybe she was just imagining the whole thing. Perhaps she had taken such an aversion to Vivian's notions of him as a son-in-law, she was reading into everything he said. Whatever the case, she didn't want to deal with him; she didn't have the energy.
"Thank you for the invitation," she said smoothly. "But I'm afraid I already have plans."
One straight brow lifted. His gaze seemed to intensify, his pale green eyes glowing like precious stones held up to the sun. "Another man?"
"My aunt. Not that it's any of your business."
He treated her to a full-fledged smile that was perfectly even, perfectly symmetrical, bright, white, handsome as she imagined all the Danjermonds had been since the days of the Renaissance. "I like to know if I have competition."
"I told you before," Laurel said, edging toward impatience. "I'm not looking to get involved with anyone at the moment."
The word "liar" rang in her head, and she had the distinct feeling Stephen Danjermond heard it, too. But he would have to call her on it. She wasn't bringing up the subject of Jack Boudreaux. Today she honestly wished she'd never heard the name.
"Sometimes we get things we are not necessarily expecting, though, don't we, Laurel?" he said.
He didn't like her rebuff. She could hear the faintest edge in his smooth, cultured voice, and behind the affable smile his eyes had a coldness about them that hinted at temper. Too bad. She had no intention of becoming entangled with him-emotionally or otherwise.
"Annie Delahoussaye certainly got something she wasn't expecting," she said, neatly shifting gears to business. God, how appalling that murder seemed safer territory than personal relationships.
"You're here on her behalf, Laurel? For someone who claims not to be interested in going back to work you certainly are spending a great deal of time in the courthouse."
"Her parents asked me to act as their liaison with the sheriff's department," she said. "They're devastated, naturally, and Kenner is less than forthcoming, to say nothing of the fact that sympathy is a completely foreign concept to him."
Danjermond nodded thoughtfully. "He's a hard man. He would tell you there's no place for sympathy in his work."
"Yes, well, he'd be wrong."
"Would he?" he asked, looking doubtful. "Sympathy can sometimes be equated with weakness, vulnerability. It can draw a person into situations where perspective becomes warped and emotion takes over where logic should rule. We're taught in law school not to allow ourselves to become emotionally involved, aren't we, Laurel? As you well know, the results can be disastrous."